Chapter 4 — Potters and the Last Fire Season

Ha showed Linh the loan book. The debt is not entirely in Mr. Phuc's name; Part of it is under Mr. Tan's signature, but the account number that received the money belongs to the land seller. The invoice has the factory stamp, the same signature as Linh's father but lacks the hook at the end.

The two sisters sat in a small room behind the factory office, which Ha had used as a place to record books for many years. The yellow light of the desk lamp shines down on a stack of papers arranged in clusters by year, each cluster tied with a rubber band that has become brittle with time.

“I'll compare each signature one by one,” Ha said, placing the two pieces of paper next to each other. "This signature, and the signature I signed in two thousand and nine, are on my child's birth certificate. The hook at the end of the letter T is always there, even when I sign in a hurry."

Linh bent down to look closely, and it was just as Ha said - on the loan contract, the letter T was truncated, like a person trying to imitate a familiar signature but lacking the hand habit that had been ingrained through hundreds of signings.

Minh advises checking with the bank. Mr. Phuc did not want to because it would affect Uncle Tan's family. Linh said that being silent caused the whole factory to pay the debt on behalf of others.

"If it's true that the signature was faked," Minh said, "this is not just a matter of debt. This is fraud that can be prosecuted."

“Who to pursue?” Mr. Phuc asked, his voice harsher than Linh had ever heard from him. “Go after a dead person, or go after your own father for signing bail for his younger brother?”

Linh was silent before that question. She realized that her father was not only afraid of affecting Uncle Tan's family - he was also afraid of being dragged into the middle, afraid of having to explain why for ten years he had not asked a single question about the loan in his name.

Son sent seven days to sign the sale. Ha proposed establishing a cooperative, but needed capital and trademark documents. Ms. Nam said that profession cannot rely only on self-esteem.

“Pride cannot pay the electricity bill,” she said as she sat with the group that evening, her voice as frank as ever. “I support keeping the furnace, but supporting it does not mean closing your eyes to the numbers.”

Ha opened a new spreadsheet, listing the costs of maintaining the factory for the next six months if she did not receive money from the corporation — electricity, firewood, worker salaries, monthly loan interest. The last number made the room silent for a long time.

“We need at least five big orders in three months to hold out,” Ha said. “Currently there is a new yeast line, not sure how much it will sell.”

Linh took a photo of the entire notebook and saved a copy for the lawyer. She didn't tell her father right away. Mr. Phuc discovered that father and son were arguing in the land warehouse.

She brought the camera into the archive room late in the afternoon, thinking her father was out in the oven, carefully photographed each page, numbering it in order so as not to mix it up when sending it to the consultant. She didn't hear her father's footsteps until he was standing right behind her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice cold.

Linh was startled and almost dropped the camera. "I backed up the file. Just in case I need it."

"Need it for whom? For the lawyer?"

“Dad, if this is really a fake signature, we can't just leave it like that.”

“Did you come back to sell or to investigate father?” he asked.

“I came back because you were selling something you no longer had the right to decide on alone.”

Linh's words echoed in the cramped space of the earthen warehouse, between the bags of clay stacked high on both sides. Mr. Phuc stood still, his hands still covered in dirt from checking the humidity that afternoon, his eyes changing from anger to something much more tired.

“I think dad Do you want to keep this a secret because dad likes to hide things? he said, his voice softening. “I keep it because every time I think about it, I realize I let my brother take on a debt he didn't deserve, and now I don't know how to fix it without hurting anyone else.”

Linh stepped closer and placed her hand on her father's arm. “Then let me help you find a way to fix it. I'm not trying to accuse anyone. I just want to know the truth, so we can decide what to do next.”

Mr. Phuc was silent, then gave her the old safe key, his hand shaking slightly as he placed it in his daughter's palm.

“There are some things in there that I've never shown to anyone,” he said. “Even your mother.”

Linh held the key, feeling the weight of the cold metal in her palm, much heavier than its small size. She looked at her father and saw him turn away before she could say anything more, walking out of the barn more hunched than she remembered.

That night, Linh did not open the safe immediately. She sat holding the key on the steps for a long time, looking at the moonlight shining on the factory yard, wondering if she was really ready for what was about to unfold, or if she was just convincing herself that knowing the truth was always better than keeping quiet.

Minh found her near midnight, bringing a glass of water. He didn't ask about the key, just sat down next to her, letting silence do the work that words couldn't. Linh leaned lightly on his shoulder for a moment, then stood up, saying she needed time before opening the safe, and he nodded without asking further.

The next morning, Ha arrived earlier than usual, bringing a cup of brewed coffee for Linh, knowing she would need it after an almost all-nighter. The two sisters sat on the office steps, looking out at the yard where Mr. Phuc was quietly sweeping dry leaves, a job he still did when he needed time without having to talk to anyone.

“What do you think is in the safe?” Linh asked, turning the key between her fingers.

“I don't know,” Ha answered honestly. “But if Dad kept it for ten years without letting anyone see it, not even Mom, then it probably wouldn't be a small matter.”

Linh stood up, deciding not to delay any longer. The safe was in his father's bedroom, behind an old cloth curtain, a small safe was rusted in the corners. She inserted the key into the lock, her hands shaking slightly as she turned it.

There wasn't much inside: a bunch of old letters tied with string, a few black-and-white photos of the pottery kiln during the cooperative's years, and a worn leather-bound notebook. Linh flipped through the notebook and realized that it was his father's diary, not continuously, just a few lines each time he felt the need to write down something he couldn't put into words.

One page, dated nearly ten years ago, reads: "Tan Ky lent me a loan to save this month's order, but I didn't tell him who the land seller was. If anything happens, it's your fault, not hers."

Linh sat quietly, reading that line over and over again. It confirmed what she already suspected—her father knew better than he let on, and he had carried that burden alone for a decade, not daring to share it even with those closest to him.

She took the notebook out to the yard and looked for her father. He was standing against the wall of the furnace, watching her walk forward with a notebook in her hand. His expression didn't look surprised, as if he knew this day would come.

“How many times have you reread it?” Linh asked, her voice softer than she intended.

“Can't count,” he replied. “Every time I read it, every time I wonder if I died that day refuses to sign, will Tan still live longer, even though I know his illness has nothing to do with the loan?"

Linh realized, for the first time, that the burden her father carried was not just about money. It was a kind of imaginary guilt he assigned to himself, which made him choose silence instead of confronting it, choosing to keep an old stove instead of settling the debt clearly.

“Dad is not at fault for your death,” Linh said, her voice determined. “But father may be at fault for letting you and mother live for ten years without knowing why the factory kept having difficulties. I hid it not to protect anyone, but to avoid having to face my own feelings."

Mr. Phuc did not object. He sat down on the stove steps, holding his knees with both hands, looking like a much smaller man than the tough image Linh remembered throughout his childhood.

“So what do you want to do now?” he asked, his voice less harsh.

“I want to give this notebook and the fake signature to the lawyer,” Linh replied. "Not to sue anyone, but to know exactly how much of this debt is real, and how much is due to someone else taking advantage of our family's turmoil."

Mr. Phuc was silent for a long time, looking out into the yard where the broken bowls were still lined up on the table, the morning sunlight shining on the green ash glaze, making them sparkle slightly. Finally he nodded, a slow but decisive nod.

“Okay,” he said. “I won't stop you anymore. But you have to promise, no matter the outcome, not to let this turn into a war between your family and Tan's family. Those two kids did nothing wrong.”

“I promise,” Linh replied. “I just want the truth, I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of it.”

She sat down next to her father on the steps, and the two of them looked out at the yard in silence, a silence different from the previous times — not the silence of something hidden, but the silence of something that had just been said and needed time to subside.